Restart
by BoomChick
Summary: Enemies at the end of the world look back on a long line of lifetimes. They know that soon the world will restart around them. They need to decide now what to change on the next repeat of their existences to try and alter the world's end. They won't remember what they decide when they begin their lives again. But is there anything they can do to keep Sephiroth from going insane?


**A/N:** Now edited thanks to the lovely FezasTwin who pointed out a glaring error in the story. Thank you!  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own FFVII or any of its relatives.

**Chapter One**

"I'm not going back." Sephiroth said, his low voice the only sound in the empty space around him.

"We have to," Cloud replied, sighing as he watched the man's back. "You know that."

"It never changes," Sephiroth's voice was dull and listless—almost dead. "No matter now many times we play this same game."

"We have to keep trying," Cloud whispered. "We'll get it right eventually."

"I will never be strong enough," Sephiroth replied with a shake of his head. "And neither will you."

"It always changes, though," Cloud argued. "At least in little ways. Who knows, eventually one of those little ways _has_ to change things for the better. It was closer last time, with the two of us closer to the same age..."

"I'm tired," Sephiroth replied blankly.

"We're not doing this for you," Cloud snapped back, frustrated by Sephiroth's emptiness. "You think I go back for myself? It's not for us."

"Then what is the use?" Sephiroth asked softly. "I can never save what is important to me. I never remember soon enough."

"I don't remember either," Cloud argued. "And it's gotten better since the first time for me. I get better _every time_."

"Then perhaps you are simply better than I," Sephiroth snarled, whirling on him with ferocity in his jade green eyes. "Because as many times as I live and die, I never save the people who are important to me."

"It's not like I succeed in everything either," Cloud said softly. "I've never been able to stop you from killing Aerith. From hurting Zack at Nibelheim. From _anything_ at Nibelheim."

"As if it's your responsibility," Sephiroth muttered, rage fading in light of depression, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Maybe this time we'll get it right," Cloud offered softly.

"You really don't get it, do you," Sephiroth whispered. "Every time we go back, you get a different chance at a difficult childhood. I get tortured for eighteen years. Nothing changes that. There's nothing you or I can do to alter it. I don't want to anymore."

Cloud hesitated, and felt himself softening, almost against his will. He knew Hojo's labs. Every time he went back, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, he and Zack always ended up there. He bit his lip, watching the profile of the cold man he always met in this empty place at the end of everything—when once again the planet failed to defend itself against Jenova and did the only thing it had left to do—hit the reset button. He didn't know how it worked. He just knew that every time he ended up in this place, he'd lived his life again. He didn't know how far back the reset went, or whether anyone else was aware of it aside form himself and Sephiroth. He never remembered this empty place or their previous lives when he was reborn. He didn't have anyone else to ask.

"I'm tired of hurting," Sephiroth admitted, his voice strained and sad. "I'm tired of dying."

"I'm sorry," Cloud said softly. "I always try to make it painless."

"It never is," Sephiroth responded dryly—without sympathy or pity. Cloud didn't blame him for that.

"I'll try harder," he promised the man.

"You won't remember that," Sephiroth said blankly. "You won't remember any of this."

"We _have_ to try, Sephiroth," he whispered. "Just one more time."

Sephiroth bowed his head, letting out a long breath. He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms slowly around himself. Cloud saw his thumbs cover the insides of his elbows, silently protecting the places where he would have needle scars by the time he was one, where Hojo violated him over and over while he tested. Where Cloud himself would always have marks after Nibelheim, and for the rest of his life, as long as he lived this time around.

"One more time," Sephiroth finally whispered. "Just one more time. But Cloud..."

"Yes, Sephiroth?" Cloud asked softly, still uneasy calling the man by name—still uneasy talking to him at all sometimes, despite the fact that they'd met so many times here—watched the world restart so many times.

"Try this time," Sephiroth whispered after a moment. "Try to save me. I don't think I'll ever be able to beat Jenova. Not unless something really changes. Something big."

Cloud watched him, eyes wide, and let out a shaking breath as he saw the shadows in Sephiroth's eyes—saw him steeling himself to accept the pain that would be his to suffer yet again. He thought of what it must have been like as a child in those labs, empty and alone. Thought of how broken he'd been inside after only a year, not to mention after four. Eighteen years in that place...

"I'll try," Cloud promised, blinking back empathetic tears he hadn't intended to spill. "I'll try."

"Remember," Sephiroth urged him, turning intense green eyes to him. "Cloud Strife, Hero, Soldier, whatever you become this time, remember that you promised to try."

"I will save you," Cloud whispered, wanting to reach out because the _fear_ in Sephiroth's gaze looked so wrong and so hopeless. "I'll find a way. I'll save you."

* * *

Seven year old Cloud Strife jerked awake screaming from the nightmare. The same nightmare he always had.

"Remember," the stranger said, green eyes flaring in a way that reminded the child of blood and gore for no discernible reason. "Remember."

"Storm-Cloud, what's wrong?" his mother murmured as she walked inside the door to his room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, her hair spilling messily from its braid, but still drawn to his cries.

"I dreamed about him again," Cloud whispered, lifting his arms to her and curling into her embrace when it was offered.

"The man with the green eyes?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," Cloud said softly. "The one who's at Shinra..."

"He's just a dream, precious." She yawned as she spoke, worn thin by long days of work and her son's nightmares, but still holding him close and rocking him gently.

"What if he's not?" Cloud whispered, looking up at her.

"Well," his mother murmured, turning her gaze to the wall and considering. "Then when you're a little older, we'll go to Shinra together. We'll go see what we can find out."

"How old?" Cloud asked wearily, snuggling into her arms.

"Hmm," the woman hummed, brushing her hands through his hair. "Thirteen."

"You promise?" Cloud whispered, curling up in her arms.

"It's just a dream," Mama Strife said in reply, brushing her fingers through his hair. "But if it's a dream that means that much to you, then we'll just have to find out for ourselves. We'll see when you're older. We'll see if it stays."

* * *

The dream stayed. Cloud grew older and taller, and something about the dreams of himself helped him keep an iron grip on what he wanted to be. He didn't care that the boys in town teased him for being weedy. Didn't care that Tifa ignored him. He had to focus on getting bigger—getting stronger. He helped his mother work on the rickety shingles on their roof and learned to re-attach the shudders when a storm coming from the mountains ripped them free. It made him strong, like he would need to be.

Because one day, he was going to march into Shinra and leave with somebody with silver hair and cat-green eyes.

"You're really a little old to believe in that dream still, Cloud," his mother would sigh, no longer so spry or so enthusiastic as she once had been, weathered by years of working hard in a town that did not want her or her bastard child.

"It never went away, Mama," Cloud Strife said at eleven years old. "It's never gone away. You promised."

"You aren't thirteen yet," his mother sighed, dusting the flour off her hands and putting them on her hips. "If you keep asking me, I'm going to change my mind."

The chance for her to change her mind never came. One morning, Cloud woke up from dreams of cold tubes and needles. He woke up from nightmares of swimming in Mako green, not breathing, but not dying. He woke up after what he could have sworn was not a dream at all, but a memory. Something holding him down. Someone cutting him open. Someone screaming his name.

And somewhere was someone with silver hair and cat-green eyes.

"Remember that you promised to try," he whispered to himself, staring up at the ceiling to his little room, where a crack was running through the stucco ceiling, a sign of the age of the little wooden building.

He looked down at his hands. They were small—petit almost. He couldn't wield a sword. He wasn't a hero or a Soldier like the dream had whispered in his ear. He wasn't even a teenager yet. He clenched his fist shut.

His mother was never going to take him to Shinra. She'd told her son a story to calm him down.

Cloud rose from his bed, looking around his room. It was pretty barren. He wasn't interested in posters or art, and his mother had always been grateful for that. It was one less thing to run her bank account dry. He only had a few pictures hanging up-drawings from when he was a child. They were all of green eyed men outlines of hair he hadn't filled in on the white paper. They didn't make silver crayons that he'd ever seen.

He walked to his window, staring outside at the unlit town. In a city like Nibelheim barely anyone stayed up this late. He could see the faint outline of the windmill on the other side of town, turning slowly in the slight breeze. The moon was bright, illuminating just enough of the ground to give it all a ghostly silver cast. Cloud looked down from his second story window to his mother's run-down old truck in the driveway. The truck he'd been driving for years now with his mom in the passenger's seat laughing. The truck that could probably make it to Shinra and back in one piece. If he drove very carefully.

It was a long drive. He was only eleven. He didn't have a license, or a bank account, or a weapon. He was just a little kid with a dream that woke him up screaming. A dream about a man twice his size—cold, and imposing, and who reminded him of murder and pain—who looked at him with fear in his eyes and asked him to try.

He wouldn't have to go downstairs. The roof extended right below his window over the kitchen area of his home. He could jump out his window and climb off it. He'd done it before once or twice, when he felt he really needed to walk off the nightmares. He took a deep breath, glancing to the door to his room. It would take his mother a few hours to figure out he was gone. Should he leave her a note? Would she follow him if he did? She'd never been prone to panic, but he knew that she loved him. He bit his lip, then shook his head. He'd be back by the next day, if everything went right. If everything didn't go right...He didn't want her to get in trouble because of his mistake.

"Well," he whispered to himself as he flipped the latch on his window and slid out into the cool night. "I have one thing on my side."

"They'll never see me coming."

* * *

Nothing ever goes as easily as it seems like it should at first, Cloud though to himself as he stared out the window of his truck at the big line of docks along the water front. Shinra had seemed so reachable at three in the morning with a car within reach. Now he was sitting in the truck staring down at the busy dock line, eyeing the ferries hooking cars onto their decks with trepidation.

He should have stolen some money.

"I've already come this far," he whispered to himself. "I can do this."

The question of 'how' remained an utter mystery to him. Step one, though, was driving down off the hill he was observing from and picking a ferry to try and get aboard. He would have to take the truck. He wouldn't be able to walk the distance to Midgar from the shore of the next continent. He took a deep breath, scanning the lines of cars for the one that looked busy but not too security-intense. He had a very very stupid idea.

He pulled in behind a car that didn't look much newer than the truck he was driving, and tried to calm himself down. He ran over his excuse over and over in his mind. When he pulled up to the sailors attaching the row of cars to their ship, they gave him a strange look. He swallowed back his nerves.

"My ma had me pull up while she did the paying!" He called out to them over the roar of engines. "Said I'm old enough to do some work now!"

A moment of hesitation followed, before the man who seemed to be in charge started laughing.

"Climb on out, kid!" he called up. "Let me get it from here before you crash into anything! You go find your mom and make sure she got to the captain!"

Cloud climbed out of the car and stumbled on fear-weakened legs. The sailors chuckled, and one patted his shoudler as he passed, teasing him about 'getting his sea legs.'

Cloud moved to the quietest spot on the boat he could find-just off the rail towards the front, and stayed there, trying not to make any noise or be noticed. He still had to get off the boat, but it was one step closer.

* * *

Getting off the boat was even easier than getting on. The men moved the cars off for their owners, one by one. All Cloud had to do was wait for them to go back to get the next vehicle, and he took off in his truck. He'd have to figure out a different way to get back, but he could cross that bridge when he came to it. He was on his way to Shinra. No turning back, and no more obstacles as big as the ocean he'd already cross. He grinned briefly to himself, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and ignoring the ache in his back from straining to drive the too-big vehicle.

Shinra really didn't see him coming. In fact, once he was parked and inside, no one seemed to see him at all. Cloud kept his head down, his expression neutral, and his hands in his pockets. If anyone saw him, it was to step a little further away from him. He looked like 'the help' to these rich city people. He looked out of place, and in doing so became unworthy of their notice.

If it hadn't been so damned useful, he would have been furious.

He'd been in the building for six hours. Six _hours_. He wandered in circles through dizzyingly confusing staircases and elevators that tended to leave him stranded places he couldn't access without keycards. He took to tailing people up and down, hoping that whatever floor he followed them to would hold some answer for him. Some clue.

It was a very busy building, but so far it was just that—a building. Sparkling clean office space with big windows and a few potted plants interspaced between the same few pieces of art repeated on every floor. There were a few spooky people in uniforms. No glowing cat-eyes in sight.

Eventually Cloud had to take a moment to sit in the lobby. His legs and feet hurt from walking through the building all day. It was _huge,_ and he hadn't gotten more than a couple of hours of sleep the night before. He was losing track of what floors he had already explored. They all looked the same. Locked doors, security guards, and cubicles. It was a really depressing place.

Just as he was sighing, considering going home, something caught his eye from across the room. A woman in a white coat, her heels clicking firmly on the shining floor as she moved. He wasn't sure what it was about her that held his attention, but he'd come this far on a dream. He would go a little further on a gut feeling.

He followed her.

She got into an elevator built into a wall instead of the fancy glass ones up front. Cloud skittered in behind her. Unlike everyone else in the entire building, he found that the moment he was in the elevator with her, she was looking at him. It was not a comforting look. Her eyes were cold behind her glasses, and they glittered with interest.

"Going down?" she asked with a distasteful note in her voice.

"I-" he started, caught on the spot—uncertain what to say to keep his cover. He'd rehearsed all day running through lines in his mind like 'my father works here,' or 'I just go turned around.' Now that he needed them, they did not come to his lips.

"Let me guess," she purred. "A shrimp like you... Probably a foundling. Here for Hojo's 'treatments?'"

The way she purred the word—the way she said the name—it made Cloud unreasonably queasy. Or maybe it was just the name itself. Turning it over in his head felt long. It felt like treason in some way he didn't understand. He didn't let himself panic now. He nodded. If it would get him one step closer, he would agree.

"Honestly," she muttered, pressing a second button firmly. "Summoning you to the labs without _any_ respect for those of us trying to actually get work done."

Cloud didn't say anything. He stared at the button that she must have punched for him, and felt something stir inside him. The illuminated number "B4" looked correct somehow. It looked like it belonged there, lit up in the elevator. Like he should have seen it a long time before.

The elevator jolted to a stop. It was not well-oiled or smooth like the glass-sided ones had been. The woman held the door after it opened and glared at him.

"This is your stop," She said coldly. "There's a waiting room down the hall, so just go right there. Don't open any doors. The things inside would probably eat you and make a mess."

She didn't sound like she was joking. Cloud stepped out of the elevator and didn't look back to see the doors close behind him. He just waited until he heard them snick shut. Then he let himself look up at the hallway stretching out before him. It was as dull as the rest of the building. The same art. The same potted plants. These plants were wilted and withering, and there was dust gathering in the corners. It looked like the cleaning people did not come downstairs often. The floors didn't gleam at al, but kind of stuck to the bottoms of his shoes as he took a few tentative steps forward.

Cloud walked to the very first window he could find, annoyed by the callous and ridiculous instructions the scientist had given him in the elevator. He looked up at the small, re-enforced window on the front of the door. It was a little high for him, but he could see inside with a little work. He rose up onto his tip-toes and peered inside, hoping for silver hair. Instead he gasped and lept back as something slammed itself against the door—something with very large teeth. He'd only seen a flash of its thick fur and ugly yellow teeth-he hadn't even seen any eyes. He shivered, staring at the door as it bucked and shivered under the monster's attack. He stayed perfectly still until the door stopped shaking. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the trembling in his hands.

He could stop right here and turn around. Surely someone with a keycard would let him back in the elevator if he just went to the waiting room. He shook his head, taking another slow breath. He'd come this far. He wasn't about to stop now.

The next window was just to an empty white room, full of blood. So was the one after that. In the third, something that looked mangy and almost-human lay curled in a corner, blood on it's mouth, sleeping a sated sleep. Cloud broke out in a cold sweat, backing away from the window.

What had he gotten himself into.

* * *

He wandered for hours. If this was just B4, he couldn't imagine how big this underground area was. There had been easily ten floors under this one, and these halls seemed to go forever, each branching off a central area—an enormous arena built from glass. Inside the floor was dark, but Cloud got the feeling it had not been built that way. The color was splotchy and ugly-as though it had been stained that way through horrible misuse. Cloud tried not to let himself shiver at the feeling of having it at his back as he walked away.

He'd found the waiting room he was supposed to go to, and gotten out of it as quickly as possible. It had smelled like piss and blood. It was not a comforting place to be. Not while he was doing his best to keep from throwing up with every new window he looked inside. He probably should have left—should have gone for help—should have found a way back upstairs. But there was a voice in his head, repeating urgently.

'Try, try, try, try, try.'

He was trying. No matter what he saw inside these windows, he was trying. He had it down to a system now. Stand on tip-toe, peer inside, jerk back, try to forget, try to forget, try to forget, go to the next.

His green eyed man _couldn't_ be down here. He _couldn't_ be. Cloud still didn't leave.

Now and then he heard movement—voices. There weren't many places to hide, so Cloud cut the difference. He pretended like he was supposed to be there. So far, none of the voices had come close enough to notice, so Cloud wasn't sure how well his nonchalantly leaning against a wall would go over with the no-doubt dangerous audience.

When he was a kid, he remembered his mother telling him that he could trust people in doctors clothes and uniforms to help him. He had the distinct impression that this was not the case with the people down here.

Check another window, try to forget. Check another window, try to forget. Really really really try not to throw up in the potted plants.

"Where are you?" Cloud whispered as he gasped for breath, leaning over the withered plant he had almost hurled into. "Where are you?"

"Where is who?"

The voice that answered him nearly made him scream. He clamped a hand over his mouth and whirled, looking for the owner of the flat, distant voice that had replied. There was no-one. The hallway was empty. Cloud choked in a shuddering breath, turning to face the dead end he'd been working his way towards.

"Hello?" He whispered, his voice wavering.

"You should not be here," the flat voice answered in return. "The Professor does not like subjects wandering."

"I'm not a subject," Cloud murmured, walking slowly towards the door. "I'm Cloud."

"Clouds are not audible," the voice said blankly. "They do not speak. If you are hallucinating, it is probably an effect of the drugs. Go back to your cell before he dispatches you. Or has me do so."

Cloud walked to the end of the hallway and drew up short. There was no need to look through a window in this cell. The walls were made of glass. Inside sat a naked boy, not much older than he was. He was all lean muscle and stillness, sitting perfectly calm in the middle of his empty room, as though this were a perfectly average series of events. His hands rested on his thighs, palm down, as though he had been meditating or stretching before he was interrupted.

His silver hair hung down past his shoulders. His cat-like eyes were fixed on Cloud with a look that was caught between predatory and bored. Cloud felt his insides turn cold.

"It's you," he whispered, walking forward to touch his fingers to the glass, like a child at a zoo. The name of his dream-mate rose to his lips without thought. "Sephiroth."

"How do you know that name?" The boy asked, suspicious. He rose to his feet, slowly, carefully. He moved like a tiger—not necessarily fast, but with every move calculated and dangerous. Cloud almost shivered.

"I don't know," Cloud replied softly. "All I know is that I promised you I'd try."

Cold green eyes blinked. Pupils narrowed, widened, and narrowed again. Cloud watched as the young man inside the cell inspected him carefully—every inch of him. His silver hair glittered in the light as he tilted his head and inhaled slowly, thoughtfully, mulling over his words before they left his lips.

"Then you," he said softly, "Are _that_ Cloud."

"I am," he whispered, not in the slightest surprised to hear recognition in the voice. After all, he'd known Sephiroth's name as though on instinct. He pressed his fingers harder against the glass. "I came to get you."

"I see," Sephiroth whispered, looking down at himself. Cloud watched as the young man lifted a hand, inspecting it closely. He couldn't see what the man was inspecting on his palm with such intensity. "I thought you were a new one for me to kill."

His voice was empty on the words—he sounded almost bored. Cloud shook his head, trying not to tremble at the bored declaration of assumed violence—the cool confidence with which Sephiroth had assumed he could destroy Cloud. Maybe he could, Cloud thought. Maybe those dreams had known something. Those images of gore—of blood—that accompanied even a sliver of an image of green eyes.

"I came here for you," Cloud whispered, not knowing what else to say.

"You're the first," Sephiroth replied. "You're the only."

"Then will you come with me?" Cloud asked, pressing his hand more firmly against the glass.

"Yes," Sephiroth replied blankly. "Stand clear, or you will be hurt."

"You can break the glass?" Cloud asked softly, even as he stepped back. "Why didn't you just leave?"

"Where would I go?" Sephiroth replied.

The words were heavy, even from the seemingly empty boy. They carried a weight that Cloud didn't understand—a loneliness he'd never encountered before. He didn't know what to say in response, so he said nothing. He just watched while Sephiroth fired a spell—it had to have been a spell, because Cloud had never seen anything else like it—and melted the entire glass wall in the front of his cell. Cloud tensed, waiting to hear sirens going off. Nothing happened. There was no warning of jail break, or blaring alarm, or flashing light.

"Is there a silent alarm?" Cloud asked softly, looking around them quickly.

"I have never tried to leave," Sephiroth replied from alarmingly close.

Cloud whirled, eyes fixing on the young man who was easily a head—maybe more—taller than him. He gazed down at him with even, empty eyes. Cloud wondered, suddenly, what exactly he was rescuing.

"We need a hat," he said suddenly, looking up at the unnaturally silver hair. "And clothes," he added, attempting _not_ to look at the uncomfortably close naked body of the teenager.

"This way," Sephiroth replied, turning and leading the way through the hallways.

Cloud couldn't help but think, as he followed him, that there was something in the way the young man walked that made him look like he ought to be followed. There was something in his very stride that screamed 'leader,' and something inside Cloud that begged to follow him. It didn't matter that he'd been the one to break in here to find him (not that his break-in had been at all spectacular.) It only mattered that Sephiroth was leading the way and Cloud was following.

He didn't know what he'd do when it became his turn to do the leading.

* * *

"This will not work," Sephiroth cautioned as Cloud handed him a set of clothes from a locker that didn't look like they would be _too_ huge on him.

"Who's doing the rescue here, you or me?" Cloud asked, glancing back at him.

"Considering that you seem to have no idea what you are doing," Sephiroth replied calmly, even as he slid on the shirt and started diligently rolling up the sleeves, "I would say it has become a joint endeavor."

"You talk like a robot," Cloud muttered to himself, digging around in the locker and huffing when he didn't find a hat or a key-card.

"Was that an insult?" Sephiroth asked from behind him, sounding far more confused than he sounded insulted.

"It was an observation." Cloud said, going on to the next locker and jerking it open. No one seemed to care about locking the things, despite their names. Maybe they thought no one in their right mind would be down here stealing things.

Maybe they thought no one would survive trying.

"I will need shoes," Sephiroth commented mildly.

"Then go find some," Cloud huffed. "I'm not the only person with thumbs in the room."

"I-" Sephiroth started, as though bewildered by the reply. Cloud looked back in time to see the confusion on Sephiroth's face, as though it had never crossed his mind that he might participate in the activity. Cloud watched him until Sephiroth's eyes left his, tracing over the line of lockers. The silver-haired man (boy, Cloud silently corrected himself) eventually moved forward and crouched. He opened one of the lower lockers, hesitantly, as though anything might jump out at him. Cloud turned back to his task, rummaging around for anything resembling a hat or a key-card.

"What is your plan?" Sephiroth asked softly.

"My plan?" Cloud replied, glancing back at him.

"For escaping."

"Oh," he turned back to the lockers, closing the latest disappointment to open the next. "We walk out."

There was a dull thump behind him, and Cloud looked over to find that Sephiroth had dropped the shoe he was inspecting in favor of staring at Cloud in surprise.

"We walk..." he repeated softly.

"Trust me," Cloud said mildly as he watched the young man in the too-baggy clothes with the too-thin face gawk at him. "It got me in the building, it will get us both out."

"It will get us both killed," Sephiroth rasped.

"Who's the one getting rescued here?" Cloud repeated in a growl, turning back to the locker. He gave a soft crow of triumph, pulling free a hat and tossing it at Sephiroth. "Here. Get your hair under that so you look more-" He broke off, suddenly unsure of himself.

"Normal?" Sephiroth supplied, his eyes narrowed in what Cloud thought was either anger or hurt, but could have been either.

"Boring," Cloud corrected.

"Right," Sephiroth muttered, carding his fingers back through his hair to start pulling it up to the top of his head.

"I like it," Cloud muttered softly after a moment.

"You're welcome to it," Sephiroth replied, his voice bitter and cold. "I am tired of being special."

"Well," Cloud murmured after a long moment, jerking open the next locker. "Then stop complaining about looking normal."

"We have a hat," Sephiroth muttered. "Why are you still looking?"

"We need a card," Cloud replied softly. "To get on the elevator."

He heard Sephiroth mutter something to himself. It sounded suspiciously like "woefully unprepared."

"Look," he huffed, "if you think you can do a better-" He broke off with a yelp as a hand gripped his elbow from around the locker door.

"Got you, you little thief," The guard snarled, wrenching Cloud's arm behind his back and drawing a howl of pain from him. "Thought you could make off with company property, huh?"

"Let go," Cloud cried, struggling in the man's hold. Gods, his hand felt like it was _crushing_ his wrist. Like he was literally breaking bones. Cloud kicked at the man's knees behind him as his other arm was caught, keeping him from trying to writhe away. He cast a glance to Sephiroth, opening his mouth to ask for help.

He looked up to see the teen cowered in the corner, his eyes wide and bright green, fear in his face. Cloud knew that fear. It was the fear he himself had felt when the bigger kids surrounded him with rocks. When he knew he was about to get hurt. When he couldn't do anything to stop it.

"Sephiroth," he gasped, the name followed immediately by a scream as the guard wrenched his arms together behind his back, binding them with something cold and hard. He scrambled to get away, and was rewarded by being slammed against the lockers, the cold metal pressing into his cheek.

"Wait till Hojo gets ahold of you," the guard snarled. "He don't like anyone so much as _talkin'_ to his little pet project. Tryin' to steal it? Well, that's gunna land you in a _world_ of hurt, kid."

"Seph," Cloud wheezed, finding himself out of breath—out of strength—utterly out-matched. "Run."

Their eyes met, Sephiroth's terrified and acid-green, Cloud's bright, tear-filled blue. Cloud saw Sephiroth inhale. He did not see what happened next. He just knew that the force holding him against the wall vanished, and an enormous sound followed—a crash and a thud. He wanted to turn and watch, but he just slid down the lockers, gasping for air, gagging on the pain in his shoulders and chest.

The guard yelled, and Cloud heard what sounded like a gunshot. Then there was a sickening snap. Then silence.

He turned slowly, shifting himself with a great deal of discomfort to look behind him at what had happened.

He turned just in time to see Sephiroth slowly release the broken neck of the guard and unclip the keycard from his chest pocket. The pale, inhuman boy looked up to Cloud from where he stood over the body. The fear was gone from his eyes, replaced again by blankness. He walked over slowly, crouching by Cloud.

"Your keycard," he murmured. "Now turn around. I'll release your hands."

"You killed him," Cloud whispered, shocked—horrified—happy.

"Of course," Sephiroth replied, as though it had been the most natural thing in the world.

Cloud heard a sharp break of metal, and slowly drew his arms around to look down at them. They'd been handcuffed. One of the middle links had been broken. He looked down to Sephiroth's hands to watch the missing link drop from his fingers. He didn't dare say what he was thinking. He didn't dare risk pushing the young man over the edge.

He was very, very certain in that moment that Sephiroth was not human. He was certain of it right until the older boy wavered and fell against him, his hot blood staining Cloud's front as the gunshot wound in his shoulder that Cloud had failed to notice bled heavily onto him. Then every thought of inhumanity fled Cloud in an instant, replaced by fear.

"Oh no," Cloud whispered, staring at the silver head suddenly resting on his shoulder. "Sephiroth..."

"We need to go," Sephiroth rasped, trying to push himself up and away from Cloud and failing to.

"He _shot_ you," Cloud whispered, terrified.

"It will heal," Sephiroth rasped in return.

"Stop moving," Cloud scolded swiftly, lifting his hands to catch Sephiroth's shoulder. "We need to get you to a hospital!"

"Be _quiet_." Sephiroth hissed, snarling at Cloud. "You're too loud."

"Let me see" Cloud insisted, moving his hands to the base of Sephiroth's shirt, pulling upwards.

Sephiroth's hand gripped him on the exact same place of his wrist the guard had, and Cloud yelped in pain at the touch, despite himself. It froze both of them solid for a moment. Then Sephiroth slowly released his wrist, withdrawing from him to sit heavily against the lockers on the other side of the cramped hallway.

"Don't touch me," the teenager whispered, his eyes haunted as he gazed at Cloud.

"You need help," Cloud whispered. "A bandage. Something to stop the bleeding."

"I don't like being touched," Sephiroth said in reply, his voice low, but not dangerous anymore, somehow. He just sounded scared to Cloud.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Cloud whispered, trying to stop his hands from shaking.

"I'll hurt _you_." Sephiroth threatened, eyes narrowing dangerously. "If you touch me, I'll kill you like I killed that man."

Cloud hesitated, already halfway through grabbing one of the discarded sets of clothes to use as a makeshift bandage. He looked up at Sephiroth, brows twisted in concern and what he hated to admit was fear. It had been so easy for the boy—snuffing out that life. It hadn't taken more than a breath—more than a moment.

"You wouldn't really do that, would you?" He asked softly.

Sephiroth stared back at him, his gaze empty. Cloud didn't know what to make of that gaze except that, perhaps, even Sephiroth himself didn't know. He took a steadying breath and tried very hard not to panic. He could already smell the body across the room as it started to relax and spill all-too-human waste onto the floor.

"If you're bleeding everywhere, there's no way my idea will work," Cloud urged softly.

"Give them," Sephiroth replied, holding out a hand that was soaked with blood from pressing against his wound.

Cloud passed the extra clothes he was holding without a word, watching as Sephiroth soundlessly bound his bleeding shoulder with the extra shirt and pair of jeans. He could hardly believe it when the teen stood slowly out of his slump, testing the tie around his torso and pulling on a spare too-big jacket from the floor.

"How can you even move?" Cloud asked, forcing himself to his feet on sheer will alone. His body ached from the abuse. He cast around and found another extra jacket with sleeves long enough to cover the dangling ends of the handcuffs on his arms. He zipped it up over the new bloodstains on his shirt.

"The elevator," was all Sephiroth said in response.

Cloud almost reached out to him, but he stopped himself. Sephiroth's threat was still ringing in his ears. Nothing felt real to him—it was like he was floating. He swallowed hard, nodded, and turned to lead the way to the elevator. He wondered as he walked what, exactly, he was trying to take from Shinra.

* * *

He couldn't believe the plan worked. Even though it had been his plan in the first place. They just rode the elevator up and left the building. Despite the too-big clothes, hidden wounds, and the bruises Cloud could feel forming on his face. No one blinked twice. Cloud got the distinct impression that they were used to ignoring what came out of the elevator to the basements.

The only problem came when they first stepped out of the building. Sephiroth paused in the middle of the entryway, staring upwards holding perfectly still. Cloud turned to look at him, bewildered. There was no emotion on the man's face, but he rocked slightly where he stood, as though nailed in place and pushed by a slight wind.

"Hey," Cloud hissed. "Come on. Someone will notice."

Sephiroth's eyes slid down to Cloud. he looked strange with his uncanny hair hidden under the dark cap. It made his pale eyebrows look almost invisible-his bright green eyes that much more uncanny. For a moment, both of them were frozen, gazing at each other. Then Sephiroth took another step forward and followed Cloud into the parking lot. Cloud winced at how obvious his ugly country truck was in the middle of all the gleaming futuristic cars around it.

"Get in," He muttered, opening the passenger's side door for Sephiroth.

The teen hesitated, wavering slightly. He'd seemed perfectly stable in the building—almost regal, actually. He moved with such purpose. Now that purpose was fading in wake of blood loss or pain. He looked to Cloud, eyes narrowing.

"Where do we go?" He asked.

"I'm taking you home," Cloud replied firmly. "I live in Nibelheim. It'll be along drive, but the truck should hold out."

"Why?" Sephiroth asked, even as he leaned lightly against the side of the truck for support.

"I don't know," Cloud said softly. "But I know you saved my life, and I know I want to help. That's... Just the best place I can offer."

Sephiroth hesitated a moment longer, then moved forward, climbing slowly and stiffly into the passenger's seat, curling around his wounded shoulder. Cloud glanced back at the building, expecting to see guards pouring out to follow them. There was next to no one leaving the building. It was still the middle of the work day. He closed the door on Sephiroth and moved around to the driver's side, pulling the keys out of his pocket as he went, trying to ignore the way his hands were trembling and the pain that was still coursing through him after the roughing-up the guard had given him. He allowed himself a single sniffle and then steeled himself against the discomfort and climbed into the driver's seat.

"You should buckle in," he warned as he started the old truck with a rattling cough of the engine.

Sephiroth didn't move. He just curled up against the door, his eyes fixed out the window. Cloud watched him a moment before fastening his own seat belt. The smell of blood was already filling up the cab.

"We should go to a hospital," he whispered as he pulled out of the parking space he'd found, the murmur soft as he focused on not running into the much-nicer cars surrounding his mother's truck.

"That is where doctors work," Sephiroth said just as quietly. "Do not take me there."

"You could die," Cloud replied, glancing over at him. "You got shot."

"I will not go to a hospital," Sephiroth replied softly. "Take me to your home."

"It's not much of a rescue if I get you killed," Cloud hissed.

"If you attempt to take me there, I will run," Sephiroth whispered. "If you catch me, I will snap your neck. I will not go to a 'hospital.' Take me to your home if you wish to 'save' me."

Cloud grit his jaw, glancing over at him. "That is just your answer to everything, isn't it?" he rasped. "Threaten to kill me."

Sephiroth didn't so much as look at him, but Cloud could see his reflection in the rear view mirror on the other side. The mirror had been nicked at some point during the car's life so that it always faced inward. He could see Sephiroth's face in it, pale and drawn. His eyebrows were lowered and his lips were pressed together in a thin line. Cloud realized almost belatedly that he might have been acting calm, but he was really hurt.

'Try,' the dark voice in his mind whispered, rising strange associations of blood and gore. Cloud was beginning to wonder about those violent background images.

He drove.

* * *

An hour down the road, the day caught up to Cloud. He had to pull over to vomit. The sickening crunch of a man's neck breaking—the blood that was still staining his clothes under the borrowed jacket—the reek of injury filling the truck's cabin... It was all too much. He leaned against the side of the truck, coughing as he stared sightlessly down at the mess he'd left on the ground, lifting a shaking hand to the bruise on the side of his face. The man in the labs had been hurting him. The silver handcuffs still adorned his wrists, jingling softly as he moved, the red skin beneath them already bruising deeply.

"Gotta get home," he whispered to himself, trying to focus as he climbed shakily back into the car.

There was no reply from Sephiroth. He was curled up in his seat, fast asleep, his hands both curled around the handle on the door for security. Cloud hoped that it wasn't bad to let him sleep as hurt as he was, but there was nothing he could do.

He coaxed the old car back into motion and headed to Nibelheim, keeping a close but helpless eye on the ever-worsening condition of Sephiroth as he drove.


End file.
